Loving-terror
by Cybertronprincess
Summary: With a knuckle raising his face to the bridge of Walter's bony nose, he closes flush against Nite Owl's chest, feeling the sharp withdrawal of breath, a knife-like gasp that cut right through to his heart. Daniel was not aroused; Daniel was scared. Warning, slash. Kinda creepy and depressing.


**Hi guys, did you miss me? :D I suppose not. I apologise for being away so long, it's been really manic! Not just Christmas, but other junk as well. Anyhow, my geeky, nutty parents showed me the Watchmen movie a few weeks ago (how many teenaged girls can say _that?_), so I've been frothing and delving into that fandom for a while and, naturally, found an OTP that hardcore fans will butcher me for.**

**Yeah, Rorschach/Nite Owl.**

**From all the fanfics I've read so far, Danny-boy always seems to be on top. It's cute seeing Rorschach letting himself be vulnerable to his one and only friend, but the fact remains that he simply _would not_ stand for being on the bottom. Not in my head. But there's so much angst potential in this pairing, and it's a shame so many are ignoring that potential. So I cracked open my inner... Shakespeare-Poe-OtherDepressingPoetsIDon'tKnowTheNamesOf, and came up with this ficlet. If you enjoy sappy, fluffy, cutesy Watchmen slash; turn back now dudes, this one ain't for you.**

**Warnings: Rated T for bad language and Rorschach's considering of rape.**

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In the open alley, bodies strewn across the rain-black stone, between dumpsters and sewage drains, stand two figures facing each other. Their stare-off hadn't let up, not for a minute, not even when a police siren howled in the distance to pass through traffic and reach a café hotspot five minutes faster. Bright blue eyes scraped against latex, and all Rorschach really wanted to do was reach. He wanted to thread purple-gloved fingers through soft, oak brown hair, scratch and scramble at peachy skin. Dan was watching through tinted oval glass, maybe staring at his skeleton or at the steady rise in his temperature, from simply the dramatic tension swamping the alley. And it was this setting they were used to, before they sprang for each other in white-hot, carnal frustration, hungry for an outlet to their beautiful, pent up lust.

Rorschach was intrigued by Nite Owl's restraint, as he usually would have begun pawing and kissing him by now. But no, Daniel stood perfectly still, watching. Their patrols had taken a rather grim turn, since his failure to retrieve Blair Roche. Blood was a permanent guest to Rorschach's fingers, and he knew Daniel was starting to get distressed. But passed this, he retained a fragment of humanity that called, pleaded, waited for Dan. Walter Kovacs had once called it love, Rorschach called it yearning. A weakness, guilty, but a sweet one. A possessive nature caused him to surge forward, pursuing what desires he still held. However, Daniel retreated; cowering steps leading him farther into shadows of the alley. Rorschach followed, recalling Daniel's insistence on privacy. He stalked after him, never once breaking seemingly eye contact, until Daniel flinched against a wall his back met. He swallowed nervously as his partner marched closer, and remembered a day – a week, a month, _years_ – where he found Rorschach's purposeful, powerful advancing arousing. No doubt, his cheeks and nose flushed with his spiking heat, but a horrible burn coursed through his veins and arteries as his blood ran cold with – God forbid – fear.

Finally, only twenty centimetres, more or less, separated them. Daniel was trembling against the brick wall, too frightened to look away, but scared enough to want to. Rorschach licked his lips and leaned forward, hands raising to tilt Nite Owl's face to meet his mouth with his own, with the intention of handling a glass-delicate piece of art and fragility. With a knuckle raising his face to the bridge of Walter's bony nose, he closes flush against Nite Owl's chest, feeling the sharp withdrawal of breath, a knife-like gasp that cut right through to his heart. Daniel was not aroused; Daniel was scared.

"Don't...," Was all he said, braced against the wall tightly, cheek turned into the brick surface to avoid his kiss, body bristling at his desperate finger-tips. Rorschach paused, the twisted his neck around to reach for Daniel's lips, but Nite Owl dodged away, snapping his head in the other direction in the same crush-cheek position as before.

"Don't!," he repeated. It was only a word. On its own, it meant absolutely nothing, and could've been perceived as teasing even though Daniel knew Rorschach hated teasing and he was well within his right to just take what was his and leave without a second thought or concern and really Daniel's well-being wasn't his responsibility because it was only a _damn-fucking_ word-

A word. A _damn-fucking_ word that made Rorschach realise he'd pushed Daniel too far. To the point where fear outweighed desire, or lust, or love, or whatever it was that Nite Owl had once felt for him. The killing, the blood, the brains and the ruptured organs were too much. Rorschach wanted Daniel, and maybe a part of him still wanted Rorschach, but he would have to wait. He'd need to be patient; Daniel needed to learn of the foul rot and decay boiling at their feet. It was a horrible, terrifying lesson he knew he could teach his partner right now, against the alley wall. Tear away his armour, breach and violate him until he realises that life was just _this_, just as Rorschach and the Comedian did.

But that word. That, "Don't!". It made his fingers tremble and his soul waver, to know a man that had once pleaded for him now detested his touch. Rorschach moved away and hid his hands in his pockets, casting his gaze to the pavement. His mouth ached for Daniel's tongue and his hands wanted to _touch_, but instead, they smoothed his face down and he walked away, stopping by a trash can to utter a sincere departure.

"Sorry."

Daniel keened softly against the damp air. He'd finally come to terms with the fact that, out of the unyielding wrath upon criminals, he'd developed loving-terror for his Rorschach. Though as much, he still knew his partner craved him – he knew he craved his partner too – he'd have to wait or be left in the cold, for the one he once deemed love.

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_**Hail to the princess,** baby._


End file.
